


Get In and Get Out

by blackmountainbones



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Sex, Comeplay, Crying Kink, Infidelity, M/M, Unsafe Sex, have some angst with your porn, it's good for you, mentions of OFCs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 14:42:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9389606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackmountainbones/pseuds/blackmountainbones
Summary: It is always like this, the night after a competition. A banquet, a few drinks, Yuri standing in a deserted hotel hallway with his fist hovering halfway to a knock. And yet Yuri always does. Otabek always answers.In the future, Yuri and Otabek, both in relationships with women, hook up on the down-low after a competition. As always, Yuri is 18+ here.





	

**Author's Note:**

> so, i sat down to do some work on an upcoming chapter of adonis and wrote 2,500 words of sad porn instead. the title is from the wild beasts album "boy king" which has become my otayuri soundtrack.
> 
> for real tho, mind the tags. yuri and otabek are very bad, selfish people who do dirty things to one another in this fic.
> 
> mad thanks to [muspell](http://muspellssynir.tumblr.com/%22) and [modernart](https://modernart1994.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing. you bring me to new lows.

Yuri raises his hand, curled into a fist, a moment away from knocking on the white hotel door.

It is always like this, the night after a competition. A banquet, a few drinks, Yuri standing in a deserted hotel hallway with his fist hovering halfway to a knock.

And yet Yuri always does. Otabek always answers. They will stand in the hall, pretending to hesitate for a brief moment, before Otabek steps back, and Yuri slips into his room. The door shuts behind him with a soft slam. Neither of them will say a word.

They don’t need words for this. It will not be long, anyway, before the room begins to echo with a different kind of language. Beka cups Yuri’s chin in his warm, calloused hands. His thumb traces Yuri’s lips, who swipes Otabek’s fingertip with his tongue. The fingernail is stubby, jagged as though bitten, scraping against Yuri’s mouth. It stings.

They don’t talk between these moments either. Yuri refuses to follow Otabek on social media, to see happy pictures of he and his fiancée at Disney World, at family gatherings, dressed in fancy clothing for mosque. She has all the parts of Otabek that Yuri cannot claim, and he cannot help but hate her for it, though he knows he has no right.

Yuri has someone now, too. And if he doesn’t love Mariska, even if he _can’t_ , if she lacks all the right parts despite the pretty package, that doesn’t make this any _better_. Could never make it right.

Could never make him want this less.

Soon enough, Otabek replaces the thumb with his mouth in the kind of kiss that should be gross, all tongues and spit and clashing teeth, but all that happens is that Yuri moans.

It is always like this: They make their way to the bed in stops and starts, pausing occasionally to divest each other of their clothing. The back of Yuri’s knees make contact with the mattress first, and he pulls Otabek down over him, down with him.

Otabek’s mouth hot and hungry against his skin. He tastes Yuri like a starving man,  gorging on him, hardly bothering to breathe between bites.

Between his legs, Beka pushes the cheeks of his ass apart to expose his hole, then lingers, just looking at Yuri, for so long Yuri has to blush.

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” Yuri growls. With his free hand, the hand not buried between Yuri’s cheeks, Beka simply swipes his ponytail off to the side, baring Yuri’s chest before teasing his fingers down to where his other hand is holding Yuri open.

A knuckle teases against his rim with gentle pressure. When Beka speaks, it is a whisper, a demand. “Lube.”

Yuri groans, but he obediently rolls to the side of the bed, reaching for the jeans he’d so hastily shed to remove the small bottle of lube, the handful of condoms he’d brought with him before handing them to Otabek. He fits a pillow beneath the small of his back, knees up, watching Beka uncap the lube with his teeth to slick his fingers and lower them between Yuri’s legs.

It is always like this: Beka never has lube or anything. Perhaps he thinks he can use it as an excuse not to fuck Yuri. But the moments they have are so few, so needy, that Yuri can’t let the opportunity pass without it. So. Yuri always brings the supplies, shamefully tucked into his pockets. Beka never complains.

Otabek pushes a slick finger inside of him, careful. He doesn’t have to be--it’s not like Yuri doesn’t touch himself there, not like _she_ doesn’t touch him there, although Otabek’s fingers are nothing like hers--yes, they are thicker, but they move with confidence, know just how give him what he wants... Yuri wiggles his ass, whining, and Beka obliges him with another finger, wide and wet.

The fingers twist and spread inside of him, but it doesn’t burn, not quite yet. Yuri’s body yields to Otabek. It is always like this: Yuri has never figured out how to want him less.

Another finger. The edge of Yuri’s rim sucks around Otabek’s knuckles, his pinkie finger tickling Yuri’s balls as the fingers drive in and out of him. Yuri moans.

Otabek removes his fingers, one by one, watching Yuri’s hole as he does. Then he sits back on his haunches, slicking his cock with a generous fistful of lube before pushing Yuri’s thighs up and out to press his cock against him. Yuri’s rim, so loose and pliable, sucks at the head; Otabek pauses for a moment, rocking in and out in tiny movements, watching Yuri’s body grasp and release him.

“Condom, Beka,” Yuri reminds him, but he does not try to move away. Instead, he leans back, feeling the naked head of Otabek’s cock dipping into his rim, just the tip, barely penetrating him at all.

“I would,” Otabek said, hands tightening where they grip Yuri’s hips, “But you like this way better.” And then he braces himself, sinking in, pausing, sinking deeper, almost-yet-not-quite letting Yuri have all of him.

Yuri keens, ashamed. It’s true, it’s so sweet like this, to feel all of Otabek, skin to skin. To feel him come, deep inside, to feel the cum trickle out of him, sticking together on Yuri’s thighs in the aftermath... it makes Yuri think that maybe he can hold onto something of Otabek for just a little longer, pretend that what they have is something that lingers beyond the few hours they sneak late at night like this, in the strange space between competitions so high on adrenaline that nothing feels real. Except this: Otabek’s wide palm pushes his hip down, and Yuri spreads his legs, taking his cock in until Otabek’s balls nestle against his own. He gasps as he realized that Beka is all the way inside, all the way--

Otabek slides his hips side to side, fucking Yuri open before he can fuck him for real. Yuri feels that strange pressure coming from inside, as his insides stretch around the hot weight of Otabek’s cock. Bare like this, Otabek’s desire feels hotter than ever. Yuri thinks he can feel Otabek’s pulse, erratic, palpitating where his dick is buried in Yuri’s ass.

It’s always like this: Yuri whimpers, a sound like a cat made weak by hunger. Otabek will soothe him with a sloppy kiss on his collarbone, push Yuri’s hips back until just the head of Otabek’s dick tugs at his rim; then Otabek lets himself fall forward, and begins fucking him in earnest.

Beka grabs Yuri by the ponytail, yanking his head to the side to expose his neck. He bites (Yuri winces even as it makes him moan-- _is he leaving marks, fuck it, it’s too good, I don’t care_ ), the edges of his teeth sharp against Yuri’s skin. Slowly, Otabek withdraws his cock, then roughly slams it back into Yuri’s hot hole...

All Yuri can do is whine for more. There’s nothing like this, having _Otabek_ like this, nothing that makes Yuri feel quite so full, quite so owned, so quite alive.

Otabek’s hand is rough on his thigh, pushing his legs apart, further, further, slipping in deeper, deeper, until Yuri feels he might tear apart from it. Even that might not be enough.

Yuri’s fingernails scrape against Otabek’s back, arched like claws. Like this, he’s something wild, feral, _animal_. A hunger aches inside him that only flesh can sate, and Yuri is voracious: his body a greedy, gasping thing, devouring Otabek in savage swallows.

“Come, Yura, come on...” Otabek strokes him faster. Yuri quivers, his eyes burn. He does not want this to end, but he’s so close--Yuri tries to hold himself together, when all he wants is to let himself fall apart.

It is always like this.

He shudders, trying to thrust back, but Otabek’s hands bind his thighs to the mattress. He cannot move, held down as he is by Otabek’s need. The hand on his cock pushes back the foreskin to tease the naked tip, and Yuri keens and comes, his semen spilling on his stomach, his chest, slick in Otabek’s grip. It is the kind of orgasm that he can have only here, like this, when he is Otabek’s.

Otabek is nothing like her. Feels nothing like her, not like this, touching Yuri in the places that only he can reach.

Though he’s come, Otabek keeps stroking him, long after the semen has stopped sputtering from Yuri’s penis, Otabek keeps _fucking_ him. He doesn’t stop, not even when Yuri wails or his eyelashes hang heavy with unshed tears.

“Cry for me,” Beka says, angling another thrust at Yuri’s abused prostate.

Yuri sees stars, his still-hard dick twitching between his legs as though trying to come from the stimulation. His balls ache like he’s been kicked. He bites his lip, he whimpers, his vision gone blurry. Otabek’s finger brush the tears caught in his eyelashes loose, and they spill down his cheeks in slim silver waves.

Otabek  roars, a loud animal sound, fucking Yuri harder. He clutches Yuri close, and Yuri feels his muscles stretch with the weight of him, bearing on the back of Yuri’s thighs.

“Let me hear you. Fuck, Yuri, I love the little sobs I fuck out of you like this...” Yuri’s hole clenched, his balls ached. Once the tears start, he is powerless to stop them--Otabek wipes his eyes, and Yuri’s vision comes into focus--

Above him, Otabek’s face is wrecked, black hair clumped with sweat on his forehead. He is breathing in harsh pants from his open mouth and his cock is fucking into Yuri in quick, deep thrusts. His eyes are dark and wide and full of wonder as he watches Yuri spasm and sob on his spurting cock.

Another thrust, and this time, Otabek grinds the head of his cock against Yuri’s prostate. Without warning, Yuri’s oversensitive body seizes tight around him. Otabek’s eyes go dark and he pushes into Yuri’s ass harder, the wet surge of his come flooding Yuri’s insides in hot pulses that seem to go on forever.

 _Does she make you come like this,_ Yuri can’t help wondering, soothing Beka through the last pulses of orgasm with a hand on his back. It seemed impossible, that Beka could break apart any further. Unimaginable that he could be like this with anyone else.

But--

It is always like this. They will pull their bodies apart in a wet slick slide. Yuri will gather up his clothing to slip out into the hall. He’ll walk to his room and shower away his shame, ignoring Mariska’s text messages until the morning. He’ll call her with the same excuses he always does: _out drinking with the guys, sorry, passed out as soon as I got to the hotel._ He’ll looked wrecked enough but the worst she will suspect is a hangover. This is how it always is.

“You could stay.” Otabek’s voice is hoarse. The words hitch with his breath; he is still panting.

Yuri watches him with wide eyes, waiting.

It is never like this: Otabek never says anything, never asks Yuri not to leave, never clings to him after he’s come. Yuri never stays longer than it takes to roll out of bed, to pull on his clothes.

So Yuri rolls to the side of the mattress. His legs dangle onto the floor, thighs and ass sore and shaking. He knows that it will hurt to stand.  He does anyway, following the trail of discarded clothing that winds from the door to the bed.

“Stay.” Otabek repeats. He is watching Yuri with his black eyes, impenetrable. The fingers of his empty hand splay against the sheets. The dark damp spot where Yuri had so recently lain wet and lurid in the dark.

“I could,” Yuri says. As he stands, a trickle of cum slips from his loose hole. The feeling is cold and not quite comfortable. He fidgets. There is something in Otabek’s stare that penetrates him more deeply than his cock ever could. Another dribble of cum slithers down Yuri’s thigh. He presses his legs together but he feels splayed open, as though not even his skin can contain him.

“I could. But it won’t change anything.” He’s right. Two days from now, they’ll board their respective planes, go home to their respective lovers. Yuri will become the straight athlete and keep all his sponsorships; Otabek will become the devout Muslim son and devoted fiancé.

It is always like this: The room changes, but nothing outside of it ever does, no matter how often this happens.

Otabek reaches across the bed for him, hand snaking over Yuri’s hip. “Stay anyway.” He brushes a kiss to the inside of Yuri’s elbow, and it’s an unlikely and intimate place to be touched. Yuri flinches and thinks how strange it is, that even after all this, Otabek can find a part of him that remains untouched.

Yuri snorts and picks up Otabek’s discarded undershirt, using it to clean himself up. He takes his time, swiping the semen from the hair on his thighs, lingering around his sticky, sore rim to clean up the worst of the mess, then tosses the shirt at Otabek, who has been watching him with equal amounts of disgust, affection, and arousal. “Did you have to use my shirt?” The words are breathless, playful, but he swipes the shirt across his cock all the same.

“You’re the one who didn’t use a condom.”

“Mhmm. You like this too much.” The hand on Yuri’s hip snakes behind him to tease at his sore rim. Another dribble of cum spills down between his cheeks and Yuri feels like this, here, is the most himself he’s ever felt. He’s not sure he likes what that says about him and the resulting shame ignites a flush that starts on his chest and creeps onto his cheeks.

Yuri lets him hook his fingertips inside him, lets Otabek draw him back to bed by the skin of his rim, lets him tease until he’s burning to be fucked again, until Otabek shudders and comes inside once more. Yuri clenches his muscles around Otabek’s spurting cock and does not let him go, even when he goes small and soft inside him.

Otabek waits until their hearts slow before he slides his softened penis out of Yuri’s hole. A mess of cum and lube slicks the skin on Yuri’s thighs, clumps in his pubic hair, and Otabek pulls his abused shirt from the mess of the sheets to clean him. He is murmuring words against Yuri’s skin in the kind of sweet shapes his dirty mouth should not know how to make.

This time, when Otabek asks him to _stay_ , in that same breathless voice, Yuri does, without knowing why.

It is never like this, and yet he wishes this could be, always.

**Author's Note:**

> the muse has a praise kink; every time you comment she gets off. the muse is good to you. be good to the muse.


End file.
